fixing to die
by coffee-not-decaf
Summary: He had put in his blue contacts, covered himself nearly head to toe in cover-up mousse, and still all that Arthur could see in the mirror was decayed yellow eyes and rotting flesh. (In the Flesh fusion)


He had put in his blue contacts, covered himself nearly head to toe in cover-up mousse, and still all that Arthur could see in the mirror was decayed yellow eyes and rotting flesh.

He refused to look longer than he had to.

The facility with the other zombies _– PDS sufferers_, a nasally voice in the back of his mind sounded – had been his home for months now; treatment after treatment, constant medication for fear he would delve back into his former state of mind, ripping out people's flesh and devouring their brains.

Arthur felt nauseous at the thought.

Not nearly as nauseous as he felt, however, when one of the doctors told him that they were releasing him.

"What? Gaius, you can't. I can't – I can't go back. Why would you think I could –?"

Gaius's eyes were calming even in the face of Arthur's sheer panic. "Arthur, I wouldn't send you back out into the world again unless I was sure you could handle it."

"But –" Arthur's protests were cut off with a firm look.

"Besides, I have it on good authority that someone is waiting for you."

By the way Gaius smiled, it would be thought that this news would be of some cheering to Arthur, something to make him happier and pleased to be leaving the facility. But his heart seized up at mere _idea _of anyone seeing him like this.

Dead.

"I thought you told my father had perished in the Rising," he said, gripping his chair as tightly as he could – it didn't make his knuckles turn white, cut off from blood flow. He didn't have that anymore.

Gaius shook his head with traces of sadness. "No. A friend of yours, I believe, has been advocating for your release for some time now. He is employed at one of the treatment centers in London and managed to get around the firewalls of the system to discover your whereabouts."

"What?" Arthur breathed out. That wasn't – who would ever –

He knew, of course, he knew who it would be, but the thought was so mind-boggling, so horribly skewered, that Arthur couldn't even begin to consider the repercussions this would have.

"An Emrys, I think," Gaius said thoughtfully after a moment. "Merlin."

"God, no," Arthur couldn't help but whisper, screwing his eyes shut and hoping this horrible nightmare would just _end_.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure I have to go – I am more than happy staying here. I like it here, Gaius. All my things are here. The medication. Other people. I don't <em>need <em>to leave, you can get me some extra time, can't you? You can tell Merlin –"

_Tell him he can't see me like this._

The words stuck in Arthur's throat.

But he wasn't given a choice in the matter, only a rucksack with his limited belongings, mainly contact lenses and mousse, along with a case of his necessary medication.

"Right through that door there," one of the other doctors gave a jerk of her head, noncommittal and uncaring. Gaius gave him a friendly smile and a pat on the back as he departed in the other direction, however.

Arthur stared at the square white doorway that led out into the stark hallway; only a tiny window space separated him from whatever lay on the other side of that door.

He knew what was on the other side of that door.

Or, rather, who.

He steeled himself, a reminder that he was a Pendragon, and Pendragons are _not _cowards. He stretched his free hand out and pushed the door aside, taking a tentative step through.

Turning his head, he didn't mean to take a stuttering breath – but it came out anyway. "_Merlin_."

Four years older, still with the same messy raven hair and overly large ears, but filled out, more defined than he had been at twenty-four, with a kind of lined-ness to his face that Arthur didn't know and didn't like.

He wondered how much of _him _that Merlin wouldn't like now.

He tried not to meet the other man's eyes – but Merlin's were so wide and bright the moment they rested on Arthur, filling with water and lips parted as if he had just seen an angel. Arthur shifted under the look – it wasn't a Merlin look, Merlin looks were snarky and sarcastic and laughing, not of wonderment.

"_Arthur_," Merlin whispered reverently, like a prayer. "Oh, God, it's really you. Jesus Christ."

"Just me," Arthur huffed out a breath, trying to make light of whatever this was. Merlin just shook his head, though, with the smallest of smiles on his features that seemed to melt when Arthur's eyes searched them – and then, without warning, without notice, he was wrapped in Merlin's arms, supporting him from all angles, face buried in his neck and body quaking.

Arthur was so caught off-guard that he had no choice but to reciprocate, gripping Merlin's waist, the back of his overlarge military-style coat.

"I found you, "Merlin whispered into his skin. "Oh, God, I found you. _I found you_."

It was only at that moment that Arthur realized Merlin had lost him.

The flat Merlin took him back to wasn't theirs, the one from four years ago with the worn sofas and broken television set, the tile floor of the kitchen that Merlin slipped on every morning without fail, the balcony that let sun inside and had dead plants on the windowsills because they both had forgotten to water them.

It was nice, though, in a similar part of town, decorated with red and green and far messier than it would have been if Arthur had been living there. It was small, though, and looked barely-occupied, as if what one of those in-between places.

"Where do you want me to put this?" Arthur lifted his rucksack as he entered through the door. Merlin messed with the key in the lock for a moment before walking up behind Arthur, lacing their fingers together like he used to when they got home.

Arthur flinched away the moment he felt the touch – Merlin let go with only a look of mild disappointment. In the hour long car drive back to the city, Arthur had refused Merlin's attempts to talk to him, placate him and, above all other things, _touch_ him.

"The – the bedroom is through that door," Merlin made a gesture toward the only opening in the flat, a doorway that sat between a sparsely decorated living room and a tiny kitchenette. There was a look in his eyes that Arthur didn't associate with him – tentative and worrying. "Are you – is that okay?"

Arthur wished desperately he could say that no, it wasn't, how could Merlin stand to even look at him right now let alone sleep in the same bed as him – but he could see Merlin's soft, quiet heartbreak with his own eyes. He couldn't do that to him, even if he couldn't even begin to comprehend the reason for it.

"Have you taken your medication yet today?" Merlin pointed toward Arthur's bag just as he was about to step out of the room and out of Merlin's line of sight.

"Uh, no, I'm uh…on an evening schedule," Arthur shifted uncomfortably at its mention. "I was just gonna go do that now."

"Let me," Merlin reached a hand out, but Arthur flinched away. He couldn't help it. But the look in Merlin's eyes was soft and understanding as he moved slower, taking his time as he took the case. "I work at a treatment center, Arthur, I do this every day."

"How'd you get that job?" Arthur asked, because it was something to say that didn't make his breath catch.

Merlin shrugged as he led Arthur over to the plush green couch. Arthur lowered himself onto it, tightening his muscles fractionally at the unfamiliarity of it. Opening the box, he loaded the medicinal gun with neurotriptyline. "I was trying to find you – seemed like the place to do it."

"F-Find me?" Arthur gritted his teeth as Merlin, hands as confident and unabashed as always lifted his shirt down to reveal the small hole in the back of his neck where the medication was distributed.

"Traveled for a while after the Rising," Merlin said quietly. "Went to your grave, found information about where those that had rose from there had gone…I was searching everywhere for you, Arthur."

Arthur's heart felt like it was lodged somewhere in his throat. "But – why?"

"What else would I do?"

Arthur couldn't see Merlin's face, a fact he was glad of. He didn't think he could have handled whatever emotion had a home on his features.

"I'm going to administer the medicine now," cool metal pressed against Arthur's skin. "If you have a flashback –"

"I'll be fine," Arthur said tightly, though he didn't think Merlin believed him. He didn't believe himself either, so that may have been the reason for it. "Just do it."

For the next few seconds, or possibly years, Arthur felt pure pain.

When he opened his eyes again, Merlin's hand was on his own. "You alright, love?"

"Shhh." Arthur screwed his eyes back shut; breathing heavily even though he didn't truly need it. But it gave him the illusion of being alive, which was better than nothing.

"What do you need?" Merlin asked softly and Arthur could have punched him for being so sweet, so human, so _there _– but he didn't.

"I just – I just need some sleep," Arthur said after another wave of nausea of a sort passed through him.

"Of course," was Merlin's response, as if it was the most simple and natural thing in the world.

* * *

><p>Merlin was very good at pretending like nothing was amiss.<p>

He accommodated Arthur and his new needs as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about it. He administered Arthur's medication every day when he got home from work – Arthur couldn't leave the flat much, what with the bigotry and prejudice surrounding the PDS sufferers, but Merlin was home as much as he could be.

He was up earlier than Arthur now, which took some getting used to, but within days Arthur discovered that it was so he could eat. He always ate his meals before Arthur woke up in the morning and before he came home in the evenings.

He was just so fucking _nice. _Arthur wanted to scream.

He told Arthur repeatedly that he didn't have to wear his mousse, or even his contacts – "It's really only for going outside, Arthur, and we won't exactly be doing that for a while. C'mon, love, at least take those things out when you're sleeping."

Arthur never did, though. Merlin hadn't seen what he looked like without them yet, and he was determined that he never would.

Merlin picked up on some things, though, like how he shouldn't touch Arthur – even sleeping in the same bed, they were on opposite sides of it. Arthur was awake most of the night anyway, a side effect of the medication that kept him sane and not killing Merlin.

Arthur had picked up on a few stray issues as well – Merlin didn't like to talk about how he had spent the last four years, or where their friends had gone off to, or why he had so many new scars. Arthur had quietly learned not to ask, and they had developed a kind of rhythm from it.

That was, until Arthur couldn't help himself one evening but to say "But why would even want to look for me?"

Merlin frowned at him for a moment, flicking the television off. It had been a boring show, anyway, and on a commercial break as well. "What do you mean?"

"You said that you went to find me – but I was a flesh-eating monster," Arthur explained logically, pretending not to notice Merlin's frown grow deeper at his words. "There was no cure back then."

Merlin gazed at him expressionlessly for a moment before chuckling quietly, though they both knew nothing was funny. "I didn't care."

"What do you mean, _didn't care_?" Arthur asked, annoyed. Now that they were finally talking, he couldn't make himself stop. There were so many questions threatening to bubble over.

"Because you were dead," Merlin answered, eyes on the floor. "You were dead, and all I had needed for the past six months was to see you again. I didn't care if you would have killed me a second later. I just needed to see you."

"Merlin…" Arthur whispered as he shut his eyes and tilted his head back. Thoughts ran through his mind with no obvious beginning or end – just thoughts. "God."

"You don't know what it was like."

Merlin, it seemed, didn't want to stop talking either. "Losing you, I mean. One day your life is going wonderfully – about to get a doctorate, family life finally in order, having met the love of your life – only to get a call one afternoon in late May telling you that said love of your life had just been in a car wreck. Killed instantly. And on the same goddamn day you had bought a ring. The same goddamned day."

Arthur bit down on his tongue in surprise. He turned to Merlin, gaping and losing his will to remain at least a foot away from Merlin at all times. "We – A ring. We discussed that, didn't we? No rings."

"Since when have I listened to you?" Merlin laughed, bitter and harsh; he pulled down on a silver string around his neck with unnecessary force.

An idea occurred to Arthur, an idea he couldn't let go of, acting on recklessly and impulsively and against every fiber of his body. He bridged the gap between them with the most speed he could muster to grab the chain out of Merlin's grip and pull it out from under his plaid t-shirt.

His theory proved correct. A small silver band hung from the other side.

"Not very extravagant," Arthur whispered, because Merlin wasn't making a sound, just breathing. In and out. In and out. "I was going to get you a better one. Possibly with a diamond on it."

Merlin gave him a look – a real Merlin look, a tetchy and annoyed one that made Arthur want to grin. "_I _thought we said no rings."

"I never listened to you, either," Arthur huffed, looking back down, letting his hand fall away from Merlin's neck, shifting his body back to the opposite end of the couch, safe and far away. He hoped that this was it; this was all the emotion they could squeeze into a single evening, and that the subject matter would be closed.

A look out of the corner of Merlin's eye told him that his issues were not going to be forgotten, as long as they were already talking about _feelings_.

"Why won't you let me touch you?" He whispered, running a hand through his hair. "Whenever I'm even just putting in your medication, or trying to get your attention…you don't let me anywhere near you."

"I just – it's not – I – _why would you want to_?"

Arthur didn't mean to say it like that, so choked and harsh, but it came out despite himself. A slow, heavy breath from Merlin, stuttering somewhere in the middle, told him that it hadn't gained the effect he wanted. Which was no effect at all.

"I know I don't…kill people, or eat brains, not anymore," Arthur whispered, resting his head in his hands so as not to meet Merlin's eye. He couldn't stand pity. "But I did. I remember it. I can feel it. And just because I can think again doesn't mean that wasn't _me_. If I miss one dose of medication, I'll be a monster again. How could you ever –"

"Fuck – Arthur, how could you ever think that I wouldn't –" Arthur didn't look up, but he could almost see Merlin struggling not to reach out for him. "I love you. I love you so much. It _killed_ me when you died. But – but by some miracle, some gift from some God, you're here again. You're with me. How could I _not _want you?"

Arthur, finally, raised his head. Merlin's eyes were on his immediately, wide and pleading, with tears threatening to spill over the edge. Arthur had the urge to reach out – his fingers twitched, looking for Merlin's, but he reigned in the impulse.

"Because I'm – I'm here, but I'm not alive. I'm still dead," Arthur told him, convincing him of what was an irrefutable fact – but the shake of Merlin's head told him that was a failure.

"You're with me, love," Merlin's own hand seemed to wander, and Arthur cautiously moved his forward. Merlin was waiting for that move, for their fingers were intertwined within the next second. "Nothing else matters. Is that – is that why you won't take out your contacts? Why you're always reapplying the mousse? Do you – do you not want me to see you?"

Arthur didn't answer. They both knew the question was rhetorical, after all.

"I see PDS sufferers every day," Merlin breathed out after a moment. "Some of them are the worst of the worst. Some of them aren't that bad. But I see them _all_. I know exactly what they look like – and I know what you look like, too, Arthur. I think you're beautiful."

"M'not a girl," Arthur swallowed and tried not to choke. He couldn't think of anything else to say that would match Merlin in profoundness.

"Could have fooled me."

"Hate you."

"Hate you more."

They shared twin smiles; it was almost four years previous, after Arthur had come home from another day at the office with a kink in his neck and Merlin was brooding about nothing again, but they still fell into bed together laughing because they were together and they were happy, and that was all that really mattered, wasn't it?

"Take your contacts out, will you?" Merlin said with a soft smile that crinkled around the edges. "And the mousse, too. I want to see you."

Arthur leaned forward in a moment of courage to kiss the top of Merlin's head. He let out a surprised sound, but it paled in comparison to his exclamation when Arthur replied "Only if you give me the ring."


End file.
